


Fact Not Fiction

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:56:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Their connection goes both ways, sure Lucifer can see into Sam's head, but Sam can also see into his too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fact Not Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

“Yes” is a powerful word. A word that can condemn a person to a race. It is a word that sacrifices self and choices, giving it to another willingly. There are a few who understand the power of just a simple world, and Lucifer was but one of those few. Michael didn’t grasp the importance, instead hoping that if he waited that Dean Winchester would one day turn his head upward and give his consent to an archangel he has never met. The fallen archangel sought connection and interaction with his one true vessel, needing Sam to understand that he was real. When the time came and that _yes_ was given, Lucifer didn’t just inhabit Sam’s body.

He intertwined himself with Sam’s mind, body, and soul. He dug himself a home and let the puzzle pieces slide into place, and both soul and Grace sung in four-part harmony. Lucifer didn’t need to threaten Sam or wear the visage of his parents to break Sam when he first fought with him in his mind. No. Instead he showed his true image and spoke to him in his true voice, and Sam fell on his knees, crying and groping for him. 

With Sam’s soul finally pulled from his grasp within the Cage, Lucifer did not lose hope. If there was one thing nothing in this universe and others could strip from him was hope. The archangel was optimistic in his plights and already he was half out of the Cage thanks to Sam. Part of his Grace was deep within Sam’s shattered soul, walking with him and fitting whatever image Sam wished it to hold. The Devil could silently see through Sam’s eyes. Could see white walls. Could see Castiel. Could see a ghost of an old hunter. Could see Dick Roman. Could see Dean Winchester looking older and more worn. 

Sam’s mind was a flurry of disorganized thoughts and without these hallucinations Sam crafted out of his own madness, they were further in a disarray. Lucifer gently began to drift between both Sam and, now, Castiel. It made his own Grace within the Cage feel a strain, but Fate gave him two chess pieces. Even a pawn has the power to take out the king. Quietly he fostered the feeling of loss within Castiel. Nurtured the emotions one gets at a funeral when a mother passes, realizing all the wrong you’ve committed and how little you did to repair the relationship. How it was too late to tell her you loved her so. Each brother and sister Castiel slain was made personal in his mind and Lucifer organized Castiel’s thoughts into two categories: loss and failure. 

Sometimes the Devil would catch Meg staring at him, leaning into Castiel’s ear to murmur news of Hell and the Leviathans. She showed him sketches of the new layout of Hell and how fragile it stood due to Crowley. Lucifer, after the fifth week within the hospital, coaxed Castiel to smile and lay his hand on Meg. “You are Azazel’s daughter. It shows,” Castiel croaked, as if the words were being wrung out of his throat and Meg bowed her head humbly. 

That is when a diet of demon blood began to be introduced into the meals, feeling Castiel’s Grace scream and hiss as it fought to purify it. Lucifer remained a heavy weight on Castiel’s Grace, letting the blood taint and tarnish the edges. But the Devil would eventually shift back to Sam, watching and running his cold Grace across a soul that was branded as his. He murmured lovingly to it, nestling close to it, causing the towering human to always be plagued with strange dreams. 

Sam dreamed of white. White walls and white floors. The Winchester recognized it after the fourth night as it being the Cage, causing the hunter to panic. He would wake in a cold sweat and find himself in a motel bed, strangled by his sheets. It was after having the same dream did he stare at this from a clinical point of view, letting himself submerge into this dreamscape. 

No matter how hard Sam tried to look about the Cage to spot Michael, he found himself unable to move until something moved him. It took him time to realize he was disembodied and siting in someone else. When the other’s head moved, he moved. But this was all wrong. The Cage was silent. Deathly silent. No sound could be made. No scream could be heard. It was a hollow vacuum. Sam could hear, though, but only the same thing over and over again.

It was the beginning of a jazz funeral. The drum gave two deep beats followed by the screech of the trumpets. Repeat. Bum. Bum. _Pah-pa-rah._ Bum. Bum. _Pah-pa-rah._

Each night he stared at the wall.

Bum Bum. _Pah-pa-rah._ Bum. Bum. _Pah-pa-rah._

Eleventh night he tried talking, but his voice was mute. Sam glared at the wall menacingly. 

_Pah-pa-rah._ Bum. Bum. _Pah-pa-rah._ Bum. Bum. 

Twenty-first night Sam realized what he was staring at. A crack. A sliver, to be honest. Sam wanted to touch it and to his surprise a hand that was not his reached out to touch it. Thumb rubbed across it, and the crack grew. Sam sucked in the air around him, and felt something stare at him. Someone realized he was sitting and watching, spinning around to only stare at further nothingness. 

_Pah-pa-rah._ Bum. Bum. _Pah-pa-rah._ Bum. Bum.

“Sam...?” the voice was music to his ears, musical and a pleasant sound to Sam. Sam felt his heart stop as he realized, to his horror, that was Lucifer. He’s been seeing things through Lucifer’s eyes and like that, he was jolting up in bed. 

Sam didn’t dream of the Cage the next night. Lucifer didn’t rush to return to Sam, instead returning back to Castiel. He pressed heavily on Castiel’s will, fostering guilt of his betrayal to the Winchesters and the innocent lives killed thanks to the angel, so he could speak to Meg. Conversations were short, but he informed that the Cage was wearing down. Two archangels in the Cage already strained it but now that one of its occupants was tethered partially on Earth was making the old thing groan. Meg eagerly listened, assuring the Devil she would do whatever was necessary. 

Lucifer needed to be closer to Sam, this running between both Castiel and the Winchester a tiresome feat. 

“Call the Winchesters. Tell them Castiel is walking and talking. He is better.” 

It was time to wear Castiel. It was time to be the wolf in sheep’s clothing.


End file.
